


Coffee [Cup One]

by Teigh



Series: Wee Fic Word Prompts [8]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-16
Updated: 2006-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:50:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teigh/pseuds/Teigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill, after the events of Book Six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee [Cup One]

Tea has always left a bad taste in his mouth. When he was younger, his mother had made tea incessantly; her attention always divided between the pour and fearful glances toward the safe house windows. Those long ago cuppas always tasted of desperation, an act of comfort when comfort was not possible. He kept up appearances for years, sipping to appease the demands of etiquette. His parents always beamed when yet another adult gushed over his careful manners. When he got to Hogwarts, he gave up drinking tea altogether. Now he's back, fighting the bitter dregs of his parent's war. He spends his days seated at a desk- a fate he swore he'd never bear- and is marrying a woman who carries uncertainty in her gaze.

He rubs at the scar splitting his bottom lip- that scar aches the fiercest and possesses a will of its own. It demands sneers and snarling when work forces him to be diplomatic. The only scar worse is the one that curves a long crescent beneath his left ear, across his jaw- it pulls hidden meanings out of everyday conversations and hums a perpetual moon-faced song.

He loathes tea, really. These days, it tastes of failure and false sympathy. The acidic taste of damp, old leaves lingers like ill-will on the tongue. Each sip pulls the moisture from his lips and tongue and gums. The parched feeling is worse than anything he'd ever experienced out in the desert, including the week he'd gotten lost, searching for Aset's Temple Sanctuary. Now he can't drink enough water.

Staring out the tiny window in his office, he gazes upon the gloomy London cityscape, rain-sodden and chilled…and longs for Cairo. There ,he had spent leisurely mornings in the shade, listening to the drone-song of the marketplace, coffee and fruit on the table before him. The tiny coffee glasses were more delicate than eggshells or millennia old carved alabaster, set on vivid mosaic saucers. The beverage itself was thick, a bold presence worth savoring. The British Wizarding world seemed incapable of making a decent cup of coffee- it all tasted like dishwater, the faint memory of Egypt flitting through its heat. Tonks had told him of a stall in the Muggle marketplace, which was renowned for its coffee. He'd yet to gather his courage for that adventure. The stares and whispers of those who know how he'd gained his scars were almost too much. He didn't want to test the discretion of Muggles as well.


End file.
